


A lot more than static

by weirdlyobsessedwithegos



Series: Darkiplier/reader [1]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdlyobsessedwithegos/pseuds/weirdlyobsessedwithegos
Summary: You’re the DA, left behind in the mirror. What happens to you?
Relationships: Darkiplier/Reader
Series: Darkiplier/reader [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849459
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

After you’re left in the mirror, you’re restless. You try to get out in any way you can, but nothing happens. 

You scream. You cry. No one hears you.

When the world seems to be done with what happened at the manor, people come. They do stuff, mostly moving around furniture, cleaning, and speaking in hushed tones.

Your mirror is taken down off the wall, put in the basement, covered with a dark cover, and almost instantly forgotten.

Your try to protest, scream, do anything, but no one notices. 

You sleep sometimes, if just to get away from the boredom. There is nothing except you in the void. You can peer out into the real world through mirrors and shiny surfaces in the house. 

You’re restless.

If only the cracked mirror in the basement would be seen, perhaps you would be able to do something.

But you’re trapped, able to do nothing.

You’re restless.

The house changes hands many times over the years. No one seems to find rest in the house. You hear someone mumble that the house is haunted one time. 

You keep watching, noting every new person that comes into the house, buys it, and then sells it again. You loose count after a while. They’re mostly rich men or couples, but they never stay for long.

You’re restless.

Then one day something changes. The house is sold yet again, but this time there is something different. On move in day, there are boxes and suitcases with the new owners stuff, but there is something more. 

_A child._

Or a teenager. You had never been good with children or people much younger than you.

The child seems curious, spending the first few days ignoring the pleas for help from their parents, opting to explore the house by themselves. You follow them through the house, always luring in a reflection.

You’re restless.

One time they catch you. They see a brief glance of _something_ in a mirror, and then you’re gone, moved to another reflection elsewhere in the house.

After that they seem much more alert. They keep trying to catch a glimpse once more, but you move to mostly panes of windows and other reflections instead.

After a while, they seem to forget, so once more you follow them around.

One day, while their parents are away, the child (teenager?) makes their way into the basement. You’re annoyed, there is no shiny surfaces down there you can see them in, all surfaces covered in dust and dulled down after all these years.

But then, _but then._

Light fills the void, and you rush towards it. _Your cracked mirror. The child._

It’s uncovered, and before you can help yourself, you’re there, fully visible. The child stumbles backwards, black and dusty cover still in hand, and falls straight on their ass. 

Their mouth is wide open, staring at your mirror. Staring at _you_.

You try to put your face in a neutral, or even a slightly friendly expression. You’re out a practice for sure, since you don’t even really have a face anymore, but it seems to work. 

The child closes their mouth, gathering themselves a little bit so they’re now sitting with their legged crossed on the dusty basement floor. They stare at the mirror, and if you had a voice anymore you would have asked if their parents didn’t raise them better. 

Alas, with no voice, you simply stare back, trying to look what you can perceive as normal.

The child raises their hand, giving a small wave. After a few seconds you wave back.

The child is ecstatic, exclaiming loudly, making you scoff, but you can’t help the small grin that spreads across your face.

After that, the child often comes down to talk to you. You can’t do much but listen, shake your head at them, and make hand gestures. 

They take to leaving the light on for you, or sometimes, when one of their parents yell at them for leaving the light on in the basement _again,_ they set out a small lit candle, as for you not to be alone in the complete darkness by their words. 

It’s alright, but it’s not what you _need_.

Time after time, you lure them closer and close to the mirror.

And finally, _it happens_.

They ask if you can feel touch on the mirror, and you shrug. You know you can’t, _but they don’t need to know that._

They slowly put their hand on the mirror, pressing their hand to the mirror. They nervously eye the cracks that glitch with static, but you draw their attention back to you with a small wave.

Slowly, as to not seem too eager and rushed, you put your hand up, slowly letting it touch the opposite side of the mirror where the child’s hand is.

_And it’s happening._

_A rush._

_Swirls._

_Static._

_A distant scream._

And then you wake up on your back on a dusty basement floor with the urgent need to sneeze. Ignoring that, you sit up, dusting yourself off. 

Looking over to your mirror, it’s no longer _yours_ , but instead it’s just an old cracked mirror. 

The grin that spreads across your face is just a little too wide and looks very wrong on the child’s face. You get up, you have many things you need to do.

The children parents are not home yet, so no one stops you when you walk out. You had expected some sort adjustment to walking on real feet agin, but you’re having no such problems in your too young body.

It’s dark outside, but there are street lamps outside (all electric now). You stay out of the lights.

You had expected the world to change, you don’t know how time had passed for the rest of the world.

The houses are different. The cars are louder. The layout of the town is different.

How many years. 

_How many years._

_**How many years.** _

##  _**How man-** _

At least some things has stayed the same, as you find the hospital without much trouble. It looks the same as it had back then, the few times you had been unlucky enough to go there.

You sneak inside with no trouble. 

Unlike _someone_ else, you will not rob someone of their life for a body to inhabit. You have no qualms of taking a body already empty.

Making your way to the morgue is easy enough. The doors are locked, but that is quickly taken care of with nimble fingers.

There is no one there. Well, no one alive there at least. _Not yet._

Chuckling to yourself, you start opening drawers. You check a few, most having bodies in them. None of them fit, until your fifth one. It’s still clothed and fully intact, perfect in all ways.

_It’s not you, but at the same time it is, or at least it will be._

You reach forward, touching the cold body soon to be yours.

_Static_

_Swirls_

_A rush_

_Two distant screams_

_A rush_

_Swirls_

_Static_

And then you wake up with your back against cold metal, breath filling your new lungs with a gasp. Sitting up, you look down on the floor. The child is laying there, slowly breathing, eyes closed.

Getting down on the floor, you step over them. You glance at them, some already half forgotten train of thought saying they might get cold. You ignore it, stepping toward the door. 

You check your face in the reflection of a metal tray. It’s not you, but with a few shifts, it’s gets better. It will take time to look like you want it to, but it will do for now.

Giving the room one last glance, you step out, and then you’re gone.

_(In the morning, the child wakes, and another mystery is launched. It’s never solved. The child misses their friend in the cracked mirror, but after a while forgets.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re the DA, now finally out of the mirror. What happens to you?

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out how much time has passed.

You see the date on a newspaper left on a bench.

50 years.

Almost 51.

_Almost 51 years._

_**Almost 51 years.** _

##  _**Almost 5-** _

You don’t have a plan. You just wander around the country for the most part, and sometimes other countries.

Sometimes you use your powers to move, other times you hitchhike, sometimes you walk.

You suppose you could try to to find Mark, and Damien and Celine in your old body, but don’t really care much for them anymore. Or so you tell yourself at least.

Many years alone gives you time to think and prioritise, revenge just takes up time. Bedsides, you’re better now.

You can go in and out of what you’ve fondly named the void as you please, forming it even, no longer constrained to or by it.

It’s harder for you to get psychically hurt now.

Your scream can pierce ears and make them bleed, but luckily it’s rare for you to need to use it. (You had learned that with an unlucky truck driver who put his hands where they didn’t belong.)

People seem to take a liking to you. It’s easy for you to get help, things, food (not that you need much anymore), and almost whatever you want. A few words spoken and you get what you need.

Some 40 odd years of wandering around the world you’re found by someone you had stopped looking for a long time ago. ( _Had you even tried?)_

 _Mark_.

He looks different now.

His hair is more messy, casual. He still likes to look good though it seems, as he wears a suit.

You would have mistaken him for a normal man had it not been from the glint in his eye, and the very fact that you know _better._

He calls you by your real name, not one of the many aliases you have used over the last few decades. He speaks, and speaks _, and speaks, **and speaks**._ You learn a bunch of new information from his rambling.

William is alive, going by Wilford Warfstache now. (You’re not surprised, the mansion _was_ powerful and he had very much been exposed to it.)

Damien and Celine in your body goes by Darkiplier now, and he’s a powerful asshole (Mark’s words, not yours).

Mark also burnt the mansion down a few days prior (hence the was) and had spent the last few days looking for you, believing that his act had freed you. He seems clueless you being out has _nothing_ to do with him. (You don’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know.)

Of all things, Mark ends this first new meeting by asking you on a date. You barely keep the surprise off your face.

You suppose he must be lonely, or maybe looking for something more or something _else,_ or maybe something _familiar_ even if you were supposed to be **_dead_** a long time ago _._ You accept his offer, only after a moments of awkward silence.

After saying yes, you return to the mansion for the first time since you left it behind. Or you suppose, you’re returning to what is _left_.

Mark had been speaking the truth. The manor is now not much more than a burned out husk, mostly grey and falling down.

You duck under the yellow tape that is supposed to scare off any people not supposed to be there. Well, you’re not really people, so it doesn’t apply to you.

The ash crunches under your feet as you step in through what was once the doorway. It’s mostly silent, only the background noise of the street and neighbourhood can be heard. 

It’s too silent.

It feels _different_.

There is no energy left.

No more way into the void here, no more possibility to be trapped or trap someone else. You make your way through the ground floor, slowly scanning your vicinity for weak points, least you get a part of the house on your head or go through the floor. It would not kill you, far from it, but it would be unpleasant.

You don’t stay for long, and soon you find yourself in the front of the house once more. You’re ducking under the yellow tape when someone speaks up.

“Excuse me?” You look up, seeing a person standing there, watching you with suspicion.

_**The child.** _

Well, they’re not a child anymore, changed a lot by time passing, but you would recognise them anywhere. Sharing a body, even if temporary, does that.

“What were you doing on my property?” You brush off some ash that had fallen on your clothes.

“My apologies, I used to know someone who lived here a long time ago, and when I heard it burnt down, I simply had to come see it.” The child ( _The adult? The child? **The child**_ ), gives you a sceptical once over. You try to put on one of your more disarming smiles. It seems to work, as the child sighs and shifts their gaze to the empty husk behind you.

“It’s sad isn’t?” You take that as your clue that you can move once more, so you join the child at looking at the sad figure that was once the grand mansion.

“It truly is.” You stand in silence for a few minutes, just looking at the manor together. You can see the child sneaking glances at you the whole time, you pretend not to notice.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name.” You lips quirk up in one corner.

“That was because I did not give it.” Turning towards the child, you make up a name to give them, and present your hand. They shake your hand, saying their own name back. It’s nice to have a name to the one who unwittingly helped you escape you suppose, but for you, they will always be _the child_.

“You said you knew someone who lived here?”

“Yes indeed. It was long before your time here though, and long before this day.” The child gives you a once over again, seeming to find some confusion in your age and the fact that before them was 50 years ago soon, but they seem to ignore it.

“I’m sorry, but have you met before? You just seem so familiar.” You have to stop your smile from getting too wide on your face.

“We have, but you were much younger then. You can say I sort of came with the house.” More confusion, so you decide to give them a hint.

“Let me say this, and then perhaps you will remember me. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the prettiest of them all? Or I guess mirror, mirror in the basement is more accurate for us.”

A beat.

And then recognition, a flash of disbelief, and an open mouth.

Before you or the child can say anything, you hear a car approaching the old manor.

“I believe that is my cue to take my leave.” With a mock salute, you’re gone, reappearing several streets away.

_(The child spins around several times, so when their father comes out from the car, he asks what is wrong. The child starts to talk about ghosts and hauntings, the father interrupts that he thought better of them, that they had stopped with that as a child.)_


End file.
